


Time and Patience. (Shot through the ear with a love-song.)

by ftwnhgn



Series: no written guidelines. [1]
Category: Frühlings Erwachen | Spring Awakening - Frank Wedekind, Spring Awakening - Sheik/Sater
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Established Relationship, M/M, Slice of Life, Summer Love, Teenagers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-09
Updated: 2017-03-09
Packaged: 2018-10-01 20:44:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10199720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ftwnhgn/pseuds/ftwnhgn
Summary: “No, Melchior,” Moritz interrupts him with a small smile spreading on his features – it looks sad, Melchior notices. But Moritz’s smiles always look sad – “We talked about the French invasion of Russia and Napoleon and then you proceeded to use the last twenty minutes of class to explain why Tolstoy’s book was the only honest portrayal in fiction of what happened without forgetting about – let me quote you - ‘the ruthless wilderness of aristocratic society in the face of death, coldness and violence’”Melchior’s fingers brush the back of Moritz’s hand on the bed carefully, as if to not startle a frightened deer. “You listened to me,” he exclaims in a delighted breath and plants a soft kiss on Moritz’ cheek. “I am honoured.”





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gabrielgoodman](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gabrielgoodman/gifts).



> The first thing since I moved into my own flat (which has been literal months ago) that wasn't written in the Twilight Zone between Two and Three AM with me being glued to my desk. So, cheers to that.
> 
> I am still deadbeat tired though, and if this is full of errors, I am apologizing in advance. No native speaker, you know the drill.
> 
> This was inspired by Moritz and Melchior being super in love in the play and my love for Tolstoi and James Norton's portrayal of Andrei Bolkonsky although it has literally nothing to do with it. And by Romeo and Juliet. Don't ask.
> 
> Title: War And Peace - Leo Tolstoi, Romeo and Juliet - William Shakespeare

_“Loving with human love, one may pass from love to hatred; but divine love cannot change._ _Nothing, not even death, can shatter it. It is the very nature of the soul.”_

_— Leo Tolstoy, War And Peace_

 

***

“You’re staring into thin air like it will give you all the answers,” Moritz says irritated as he sits down on the bed next to Melchior. His best friend has been doing this since Moritz came in and hasn’t responded to any attempt of greeting, so Moritz took it upon himself to get Melchior out of his zone.

He could be cooking up a plan for a nuclear war and no one would notice.

Melchior snapped his head over when Moritz touched his shoulder and blinked one, two, three times before his eyes focused on the dark-haired boy. “When did you came in? I can’t remember hearing you,” he wonders.

Moritz snorts. “About five minutes ago. You were completely out of it, so I gave up with waving at you like a maniac about three minutes ago.”  
  
“I was thinking,” Melchior apologizes ruefully and draws his shoulders up. “Remember, we talked about _War And Peace_ in our history lesson today and I-"

“No, Melchior,” Moritz interrupts him with a small smile spreading on his features – it looks sad, Melchior notices. But Moritz’s smiles always look sad – “We talked about the French invasion of Russia and Napoleon and then you proceeded to use the last twenty minutes of class to explain why Tolstoy’s book was the only honest portrayal in fiction of what happened without forgetting about – let me quote you - _‘the ruthless wilderness of aristocratic society in the face of death, coldness and violence’_ ”

Melchior’s fingers brush the back of Moritz’s hand on the bed carefully, as if to not startle a frightened deer. “You listened to me,” he exclaims in a delighted breath and plants a soft kiss on Moritz’ cheek. “I am honoured.”

Moritz swats him away. Sometimes Melchior can be a true sap, especially when he’s just out of one of his weird moods. And the hot summer heat of the day hasn’t really helped to keep this notion at bay. Not that Moritz would complain a lot about it – it’s rarer to have Melchior so openly romantic, in that traditional way and while Melchior is way better than him at being open about things in general, he’s also an expert at hiding his romantic side behind his scholar-like exterior.

“Hanschen woke me up in time,” Moritz answers, which makes Melchior laugh – short, clear, amused, just how a laugh should sound in Moritz’s imagination,

“Of course,” Melchior says and takes Moritz’s hand in his, buries his face into his neck despite the disgusting warmth in the room. He kisses the skin there once before settling into just resting his head there, enjoying the calmness it gives him.

Moritz draws his legs in underneath him and looks out of the window of Melchior’s bedroom. He can see the fields in the distance, just behind the border of the Gabor’s backyard. Frau Gabor is doing something in her garden, but Moritz can’t see it clear enough from his place on the bed. The apple trees down the lane next to Melchior’s home are in full bloom, a white sea in the middle of the vast green of the nature surrounding their little town. It’s hauntingly beautiful and reminds Moritz of winter, of the idle beauty of the dark months and of Melchior’s skin when it rests against his own, or when he’s buried in the blue sheets of his bed – like a ship in the middle of the ocean. Like an apple tree growing into the summer sky.

Like nature, a wild and untamed thing. Always doing what it wants, but with such a mesmerizing fineness that no one can look away.

That Moritz can never look away from.

Despite all the harm it causes him. Despite the detentions and the missed lessons and missed home-works, the bad marks and the scowl of his father when he excuses himself for the afternoon to go over to Melchior.

The world is waiting every year every time for the trees to bloom and, just in the same way, Moritz is waiting every day until he can see Melchior again, until he can get a bit of the attention his best friend usually harbors in himself for the wonders of literature and science. He takes what he can get, clings to it like a drowning man to a life line. Like a starving man to his last apple.

“You’re thinking an awful lot today,” Melchior whispers into his neck, his grin audible through his voice.

A shiver runs down Moritz spine and he looks down at their joined hands. How every part of Melchior is a vision, a constellation walking among regular man, how he is just as captivating as Hanschen, but more frightening, more complex, and how Moritz himself is just plain in the face of both of them.

“And you are awfully quiet today,” Moritz retorts and doesn’t look at Melchior although he knows that he is watching Moritz with his childlike curiosity.

“Roles reserved,” Melchior states.

Moritz shrugs. “Must be the heat.”

Melchior places another kiss onto the base of his neck and trails forward until his mouth is on Moritz’s jaw, hot air ghosting against the skin there and the fingers of his free hand settling on the other side to make Moritz look at him.

Moritz does, and from up close Melchior has always been even more fascinating. His face always a display of his inner thoughts – an ever-changing canvas and so, so distractingly beautiful.

“Look at me.”  
  
Moritz’s eyes are focusing on something at the side of Melchior’s head, but now his gaze locks with Melchior’s and he swallows. He can feel his stomach turning at the sight, at all the attention. He can’t be sure if it’s excitement, anxiety or safety. Or all three. Probably an unhealthy mixture of the whole three.

“I do,” Moritz tells him, a whisper on the bridge of his throat and nothing more. Never more.

Melchior smiles and kisses him carefully, slowly, a fit for this summer day.

Moritz clings to him because that’s what he does. That’s what he learned to do when he’s facing the nature of Melchior’s persona.

Like an apple tree in the summer, he thinks to himself, and his hand settles on top of the one that is still on his jaw. He interweaves their fingers and closes his eyes.

“I will read you _War And Peace_ ,” Melchior says against his lips. “All of it,” and he kisses him once more, until they both are out of breath, and again and again after that. Until they lie on the blue sheets of Melchior’s bed.

It lasts longer than this summer and the whole of _War And Peace_ combined and in Moritz’s memory it will last shorter than his resistance and much, much shorter than the waves of winter that will bury him.

When he thinks of peace, he thinks of the apple trees down the road.

**Author's Note:**

> a small thing for this universe in which Moritz is alive and Melchior is carefree for once. I'm also planning something with Ilse and Wendla, so let's all look out for that. thank you for reading this. if you liked that, leave a comment if you want, or chat with me on tumblr (andreibolkonsky) or twitter (xbigboysdontcry) where I am cryptic on the best days and stan Andrei Bolkonsky and spring awakening even on my worst days.
> 
> friendly reminder: you are loved, you are enough and you will achieve great things. you are right just the way you are, a living and breathing thing. keep going.


End file.
